Whitefish River Lost in reverie until I saw her fading silhouette.

You’re not wrong, Towhee thought when Dwin mentioned that young ones became more interesting once they grew up a little. Although she loved kids—particularly her own—she would be the first to say they were a humongous pain in the ass sometimes.

She opened her mouth to say something, probably something silly, when the thought of little ones made her think of Abel. She shouldn’t be sitting here, chewing the fat with someone she barely knew, when one of her grandchildren was out there missing somewhere.

Speaking of little kids causing all sorts of grief, Towhee said a little more soberly, have you seen one that’s black and white and red all over? She could’ve put more effort into his description but, If you’d seen him, you would definitely remember him. He’s very distinct. He has a little something here too, she said, touching her forehead.

Towhee set down her foot. The odds were low that Dwin would have seen Abel. But regardless of her answer, she ought to get a move on. Regardless of which direction she went, she wouldn’t be able to live with herself if she didn’t at least spread word in the hope that Abel would turn up somewhere and be returned safely home.